The precinct lights buzzed faintly above her, casting a sterile sheen over everything. Ronnie sat rigid in her office chair, arms crossed tightly over her chest, her eyes glued to the door as if expecting Kyle to barge back in with another smug smile and casual attempt to rewrite the chaos he'd stirred.
Her mind reeled with what Torres had said.
Mark slamming him into the glass. The photos. The suspension.
It didn’t make sense.
Mark had once disarmed a gunman without raising his voice. Had stood between a grieving father and the man who killed his daughter, stoic and calm. And now he was the one breaking bulletproof glass with another detective’s skull?
No.
Something else was at play here.
She reached into her bag and pulled out her phone, her fingers hesitating over his name in her
